


Under the Influence

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-22
Updated: 2010-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser. Hammered.  Well. This was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for due South Flashfiction on Livejournal (kaleidoscope eyes challenge).
> 
> Please see the end notes for an additional warning.

Half-asleep in front of the TV on Friday night, Ray nearly stroked out when a storm of pounding fists suddenly battered against his apartment door. He shot up off the couch and spun toward the foyer, his drowsy mind trying to remember where he'd left his piece.

"Hey, Ray! Hey!"

 

Ray took a deep, steadying breath. "Fraser? What the fuck--" Racing for the door, he spun the locks and pulled off the chain, his heart pounding with the prospect of what he might find when he opened it. Fraser, of course, but how? Wounded? Beaten?

The door swung wide.

Fraser's unbruised, unbeaten face was split into a huge lopsided grin, the one he usually only got when talking about curling or pemmican. His dress was casual, and his hair was slightly mussed. His eyes were...

...unfocused. Glassy, even.

Fraser. Hammered.

Well. This was different.

"May I come in?" The words weren't too slurred, but they were louder than necessary, like the alcohol had fucked with his volume control.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Ray said, stepping to one side to allow Fraser entry. The guy stared at him for another second, then lurched--lurched!--forward, like a Model T jerking into gear.

Ray noted the absence of wolf, and decided that was a safe place to start. "Where's, ah, where's Dief?"

Fraser shed his leather jacket, revealing one of those plaid lumberjack shirts that always made Ray think about Things He Shouldn't Be Thinking About. It took the other man a sec to process Ray's question, or maybe he couldn't manage two tasks at the same time, because once the jacket was gone he screwed up his face and said, "I left him at the Consulate. He was--disapproving of my behaviour." Fraser's nose jerked into the air. "I do not accept drinks from disapproving--oh. Tha's not me, tha's Audrey Hepburn."

"Yeah, I always get you two mixed up myself," Ray said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You wanna sit down?"

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said, stepping with exaggerated care around the coffee table and collapsing onto the sofa as if all the bones had suddenly left his body.

Ray debated with himself for a moment, then opted for joining him. There was obviously some serious shit happening here, and Fraser needed someone close. At least that's the excuse he gave himself.

"Would you care for a--" Fraser twisted around so that he could dig in the pocket of the jacket; when he turned back around, there was a glass bottle clutched in his fist.

"Whatcha got there?" Ray asked, as casually as he could, holding out a hand for the bottle. Inside his chest, his heart was pounding to get out. What the fuck had happened, that Fraser was carrying little bottles of--fuck, really cheap vodka--around in his jacket like a skid row bum?

Ray held it up to the light. There was maybe half a swallow left in it.

"Oh, I apologize," Fraser was saying--polite even when soused to the gills, what a surprise--"I meant to get out the other bottle."

"Naw, s'okay," Ray said hastily, scrambing for an explanation. "I, ah, had a beer earlier, and you know what they say about beer and hard liquor."

Fraser blinked at him.

"So, what're we celebrating?" Ray managed. "Tonight the Festival of the Walrus up there in the Northwest Areas? You get homesick, maybe?"

Fraser froze up for a few seconds then, as if he'd temporarily lost his way out of his own head. "No, no festivals," he murmured, finally. "But I suppose you could call it a celebration. For some."

"Oh." Ray fought the urge to bite his tongue. _You've talked jumpers off roofs, asshole, you can do better than this. _"Mind filling me in on the occasion? 'Cause if it's good, I got another Lowenbrau in the fridge."

Fraser closed his lips around the end of the vodka bottle and upended it, draining it to the last drop. Ray tried to keep his expression neutral even as his stomach churned at the sight.

When he spoke again, Fraser's voice was lifeless. "They found Victoria."

Oh, fuck. Ray had heard that name, read it, whatever. "Victoria Metcalf."

Fraser nodded sloppily. "Yes."

Okay, okay, think of a question. A safe one.

"Where?" That's it, Kowalski. Keep it simple.

"A cabin in the Sierra Nevadas."

So far, so good. "So they've got her in custody out there?"

Fraser chuckled, and the sound of it chilled Ray to the bone. "Yes. And they're sure she won't be running this time."

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

"They didn't find her--alive, did they?"

Fraser shook his head so hard Ray was half expecting it to fly off his neck.

"She was killed by a shotgun blast to the face at point blank range. There--they--she couldn't be identified by dental records, of course, so they had to use DNA. That's why it took so long, well, that and the fact she had already been dead for nine months--"

"Jesus, Frase, Jesus--" Ray's hand reached out, hovered stupidly halfway to Fraser's shoulder. He cursed himself silently for his hesitation, then connected.

Fraser was gasping now, sucking in air as if there wasn't enough of it to go around. "--and when, when they contacted me, and they told me, I thought I would be more, that I would, would _feel_ more, but I didn't, and when I started thinking about, about all the other--"

"Frase, just," Ray crooned, "just calm down, okay, we can get through this, I'll help you--"

"--missed, I've missed so much, Ray, I've passed up chances for life, and love, and I, I'm so tired of living that way--"

"Shh, this isn't the way--" Ray cut himself off that time, unsure of what he'd been about to say. His hand moved to Fraser's nape and rubbed it the same way Fraser'd done to him not so long ago. Felt so damned good to him, maybe it would help Fraser somehow.

Fraser made a noise somewhere between a belch and a sob, then pushed awkwardly to his feet and stumbled sideways. As soon as he had a clear field, he raced for the bathroom faster than Jesse Owens on his best day.

Grunting, Ray sprang to his feet and followed him. He was pretty sure there was an extra toothbrush in the medicine chest, and something told him Fraser was going to need it.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

"Where you goin'?"

Ray's sleepy voice startled Fraser as he balanced on one leg to put on his jeans, nearly tipping him over in the process. "I'm--leaving," he said quietly, although there was no need for quiet now. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"C'mere."

Fraser shook his head, then immediately decided that had been an unwise choice as his brain rattled in his skull. "Wh--why?"

The other man rolled to his side and lifted the bedspread, and Fraser caught a scent of early morning, rumpled Ray. It was not by any means unpleasant. "Now that you're sober, we gotta talk."

"I have to return to the Cons--"

"Fuck the consulate, and Turnbull, and the Ice Queen, and the Real Queen while you're at it," Ray said with unexpected vehemence. "Call 'em and tell 'em you won't be polishing any brass today."

Every muscle in Fraser's body tensed. It wasn't as though he couldn't remember the events of last night, only that seen through the haze of inebriation they took on monstrous proportions and significance. He was mortified when he awoke to the memory of Ray holding his head as he retched the contents of his mostly empty stomach into the toilet bowl.

He was ashamed when he thought of the hot, angry tears he'd cried out of self-pity and fear of dying alone and unloved.

He was warmed beyond all reason when he remembered falling asleep with the reassurance of Ray's arm wrapped tightly around his chest.

"Hey," Ray said, scrubbing at his face with one hand, "look. If you really need to go, we can--I'm not trying to get you to spill your guts."

_That's good,_ thought Fraser, _because I've spilled so much there's nothing left._

"It's just that--I think you could do with some company today." Ray's mouth twitched. "And yeah, I'll take the risk that you think I make better company than the wolf."

Fraser felt a small smile escape. "I think you make excellent company, Ray."

Ray barked a laugh. "Very diplomatic, buddy." He picked up the phone and punched numbers with his agile fingers. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and strained. "Frannie? 'S me. Yeah. Can't talk--this bug just hit me last night." He threw Fraser a wink. "Yeah, I think it's one of those twenty-four hour things. Maybe forty-eight, I dunno. Can you let Welsh know? No, no, don't put me through, you let him know for me, okay? Yeah, I'll owe you whatever you want, so long as it doesn't involve getting in Fraser's pants." Fraser blushed at that, but stood his ground. "'Kay. Love ya, sis."

Ray hung up the receiver and grinned at Fraser. "Your turn."

Surprisingly, Fraser felt very little guilt at faking his own illness, though he lacked the flair for amateur theatrics that Ray possessed in spades. Inspector Thatcher was unusually understanding, even offering to send Turnbull in early to feed and walk Dief. Fraser tried not to think on the possibility that she'd been informed of the situation. It was too much to think of people sniggering behind his back, discussing his failed attempt at--

"Fraser. Come back from wherever you are."

Fraser turned slowly to face Ray, who still lay in the bed--the bed they'd shared--patiently waiting for him.

_Don't be foolish. He's not--_

"C'mon." The husky voice sent a shiver up Fraser's spine, and before he knew what he was doing, he found himself tugging off the jeans he'd just donned and sliding back under the covers.

Without discussion, they settled into their positions from last night, Ray's warmth at Fraser's back, the thin t-shirt unable to insulate Fraser against the American's incessant energy. This time, however, Ray did not put an arm around him. Fraser lay for several minutes listening to the sounds of their breathing, until he was sure Ray had drifted off again.

"Y'know, I get like that sometimes."

Ray's whisper tickled the fine hairs of Fraser's neck. Unwilling to trust his voice, Fraser cleared his throat. "Like what?" he rasped.

"Lonely."

Fraser shifted, bringing his back in direct contact with Ray's cloth-covered chest.

"And you get to thinking nothing's ever gonna change. You'll always be here, in this place, no matter how long or how fast you run."

Fraser squeezed his eyes shut.

"But you know what I just figured out?" Ray continued softly. "Sometimes--sometimes you don't have as far to go as you thought."

Fraser's eyes opened.

"Ray, I--"

"Shh," Ray murmured, and Fraser felt the soft, gentle stroke of Ray's fingertips in his hair, against his scalp, as if Ray had been waiting for a very long time for the chance to do just that.

Unconsciously, Fraser leaned into the touch. "I thought you said we needed to talk."

"Yeah, yeah, I did. We need to do lots of stuff, you and me. I don't need to do 'em in any particular order, though. So let's start with you getting some more rest, okay? The world makes more sense if you've had a solid eight hours."

Before he quite had formed the intent to do so, Fraser reached up and seized Ray's hand, then tugged at it until Ray's arm was wrapped around his chest once more.

Ray squeezed him once, hard, then settled against him with a contented sigh.

As he succumbed to sleep and the gentle influence of Ray's solid presence, Fraser's last conscious thought was that the world made a fair amount of sense right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: minor character death
> 
>  
> 
> First published November 2003.


End file.
